


The Real Monster Was The Friends We Made Along the Way

by EveryoneHasAmnesia



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy is a jerk, Billy is sad, Gay Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infected Billy Hargrove, M/M, Monster Billy Hargrove, Post Season 2, eventual harringrove, implied mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryoneHasAmnesia/pseuds/EveryoneHasAmnesia
Summary: Billy's life has been sliding out of control since Max kicked his ass a few months ago. Being infected just clarifies thing: what really matters, and what everyone really thinks about him.A post season 2, Monster!Billy fic, with Harringrove on the side.





	1. New Normal

Billy saw the second the play got blown and started falling back to midcourt. In the perpetual practice battle of Shirts v Skins, Skins had gotten all the way to the basket before Harrington made his move. He stole the ball and made a break for it. Steve dodged to the left around his own guard, then dodged right around the shirtless guy who peeled off from guarding someone else to block him. He was moving fast down the court, and once he crossed the midcourt line there was only Billy between Steve and another basket. 

So, in the minds of the Skins players, Steve was totally screwed. 

Billy stepped up as Steve charged in. It was totally bad technique; Billy was a good player but could have been a better coach: he could see the weakness in Steve’s style. He was always moving too fast. He couldn’t maintain control of the ball. He was just rocketing down the court as best he could, not even looking to see if he could pass. Steve might as well be wearing a flashing sign that said “Wanna be MVP”. Billy stepped up with his hands out, all that stood between a tie and a loss.

Steve spun, back to him, and closed. He was close enough that Billy got a sudden breath of Steve’s cologne, something thick that must have “musk” in the name. If Steve took another step back they were going to run into each other. Billy flinched away from that contact. He gave ground, desperate for a few more inches between them.

Steve turned, shot, scored. The buzzer sounded. The game was over, and the Shirts took it home by two points. 

\---

The couch ended every practice by announcing what everyone needs to work on. No one ever got off with nothing because no one ever played a perfect game, but there were some things that were better than others. “Practice shooting” and “run some laps” were the best because everyone always needed to do that. Guys in the NBA probably had their coach slapping their shoulder and telling them to run some laps. 

The guys all circled up on the court, panting and sweating, to meet their fate before God and teammates. The coach started at the A’s, and everyone stayed through the whole list.

“Mr. Garrison, dribbling drills. Mr. Glenn? Shooting practice. Hargrove,” the coach said, and then frowned. “Work on your defense. You’re not made of glass, so don’t flinch on your close game. Mr. Harrington… Run some laps. Mr. Kimple--” 

Steve grinned like he just won the lottery all the way back to the locker room entrance. Billy stayed behind, picking up trash off the bleachers, until he’d built up enough time to shower after everyone. He didn’t want to face the rest of the Skins. Or the Shirts. Or anyone, really. 

\---

Maybe he was a bitch now. 

It took Billy a few hours and a couple beers on the hood of his Camaro before he could think that thought. He was good at shutting thoughts down. No one was ever going to pay him to be a thinking man, and just lately it seemed like his mind was a bad egg. There was a fragile shell around a lot of stinking rot, and if he cracked it, not all the king’s horses nor all the king’s men… 

Billy leaned back and looked up. It was warm enough now that spring was here. He just needed a jacket to stay out all night, even when there wasn’t any cloud cover to keep the temperature up. He preferred it like this, looking out over millions of miles of empty space. 

You didn’t get stars like this in the Central Valley. The light pollution from Sacramento would stretch for miles and miles, and the little towns around it would add to it, and the horizon would bleed rusty orange all night. You’d look up at the sky the color of a bruise and pick out the Big Dipper, maybe Ursa Major or Polaris, and you’d think to yourself, damn, there’s nothing like looking at the stars. 

He hadn’t known what stars were before he moved here. That’s the one thing about this place. Drive ten miles out from town and put your tail lights to Hawkins and the universe spills out on top of you like… Like he doesn’t know what. Like the ocean, maybe. Something that makes you feel like you’re utterly small, and alone, and lately that’s a relief. 

Maybe he was a bitch now. Billy turns the thought over in his mind as he watches for shooting stars. It didn’t seem crazy. He was fucking up basketball. He was fucking up his grades. It was the last semester and maybe it was Senioritis, but he wasn’t even doing the work that was easy anymore. He hadn’t turned anything in all week, just taking a bunch of zeros. He could recover, grades wise. But he wasn’t sure he was going to, and that was weird. It felt out of his hands. Basketball felt out of his hands. His plans to move back to California the day he graduated Hawkins High just flat out weren’t going to happen. He couldn’t afford the gas for the drive back. It hurt, but it wasn’t wrecking him. He just didn’t care. The whole world was Senior Year, and the Senioritis was going bad to worse. 

Billy flinched away from thinking about the whole world, California, the future. What about tonight? He couldn’t even seem to make it through tonight. 

Billy knew about two parties happening tonight. It was Friday, when Neil was most likely to tell him to go “blow off steam”. He could have been out doing anything. Keg stands, hooking up. Not with someone he really wanted, but hooking up was hooking up, and he could think about whoever he wanted while he did it. An excellent reason to go. 

Tommy would probably have pot, someone else might--it was a slim chance, but might--have coke. Another very excellent reason. So he agreed with himself, and still he didn’t move. Billy listed these facts out inside his head, and he stayed alone on his car, watching clear skies for stars that weren’t going to fall. Getting up, driving into town, finding someone, talking to them, it all felt like so much effort for no payoff. 

The wind sighed through the trees. Billy tried to focus on that, shaking himself out of this pit. The moon was trailing across the sky. It felt timeless, but time was actually passing quickly. He felt the beer, but he was good to drive. Two beers weren’t anything for him anymore. Along with his lackluster performance at school and basketball, he was also breaking the rules of drinking. Neil had laid those out years ago. 

“There going to be beer at this sleepover?” Neil had asked him when Billy was 14, going to his first sleepover in Vallejo. This was right after they moved the third time, right before Neil married Susan. Right before Billy’s mom died. 

“What? No, of course not!” Billy had said, sweating hard. George had told him there was gonna be vodka. This was not technically a lie, but Billy never lied back then, and it was close enough to make him squirm.

“Well, there might be at the next one,” Neil had said. “And that’s… what boys do. You’re going to have to make your own mistakes. But I’ll tell you what your grandpa told me.”

“Yeah?” Dad was going to let him drink beer at parties! Billy was already grinning. 

“The rule of drinking is no matter how late you stay out, morning comes. And you’re gonna meet it, and get your work done. Try to remember that the night before. That was Grandpa’s rule. But I have one too.” Neil leaned over the dinner table. “You know how Grandpa died?”

“Yeah…” When his dad didn’t look away, Billy fished the words out, smiling fading to nothing. “He was in a car accident.” 

“He hit a pole drunk driving,” Neil said. He didn’t sound sad at all, just… something. Billy imagined him using that voice with a contractor who did a shitty job fixing the floors, or on Billy if he brought home C’s on a report card. “So you know the next rule?” 

“Don’t drink and drive,” Billy said. Of course he’d never do that. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t sure if he should act surprised or not that Dad told him that. His parents had told him that Grandpa just had an accident, but he’d heard his dad talking to mom about it. He didn’t sound Business Angry when he told her it was about damn time, at least that drunk son of a bitch didn’t take anyone with him. Billy had already decided he’d never drink and drive. 

“No. That’s good, and you shouldn’t, but that’s not the rule.” Neil squeezed Billy’s shoulder. “Don’t drink alone,” he said. “That’s how it always starts, all the bullshit that turns men into dogs. You don’t need that. Life is hard enough, don’t shoot yourself in the foot. So, what are the rules?” 

“In the morning, I have to do my chores,” Billy said. “And I won’t drink alone.” 

“That’s my boy,” Neil said. “Come on, let’s wash up and get you over there.” 

“Isn’t Mom going to drive me?” 

“No, she doesn’t feel good today. We’ll let her rest.” 

Four years later, in a clearing in the woods outside of Hawkins, Indiana, a place he should never have had to learn existed, Billy drained his third beer. He’s decided to play his favorite song off Def Leppard's cassette again and get home. He could break a rule and his private promise at once--drink alone and drive home buzzed. He didn’t even care. The good ship Fuckup sailed a while ago. 

He slid off the car to turn on the music, and missed the one good shooting star of the evening; his back was to it as it burned its way across the sky. He leaned in through the window and keyed the car on. Music filled the still night air. By the time he straightened up, it was gone.

\---

Billy turned off his headlights at the end of his road and slowed the car to a crawl as he approached his house. He loved to make the Camaro roar, but his kitten also knew how to purr. That was better for a discreet entrance.

It was late, and he wasn’t sure how late. He wasn’t wearing a watch, but he thought the horizon was lighter than it used to be; a couple of the weaker stars had blinked out in the sky. He thought, “The biggest light polluter of all is the sun” and laughed about it all the way home. Let’s see people legislate that bright fucker away like they wanted to do to the neon signs all the way down I-5. 

It was a good thing he was nursing the car along, because something shot across the car’s nose right as he was pulling in. A second later a dark figure ran past. Billy threw the car in park and jumped out. He was only lightly buzzed by this point; his last drink had been over an hour ago, he was young, and he’d pissed a lot of what he’d had out into the woods before he’d left. That always seemed to sober him up.

Billy rounded the house. The moon was setting on this side, and as he moved out of the shadow of the house he got a better look at what the hell was actually happening in the side garden. 

Max was squaring up with an animal about the size of two footballs put together. Her hair was up and she had a golf club Billy’d never seen before. She raised the club, but then she saw Billy. Her eyes widened comically, and for a second they were frozen in tableau. Billy stared at her and she stared at him, and the only thing capable of moving was that thing on the ground.

The creature was advancing on her. Billy couldn’t see it well; it was squat and dark and facing away from him. He was sure that he’d seen Max chasing it when they crossed the driveway, but now the tables seemed to have turned. It stepped into the shadow cast by the raised flower bed Susan was pouring all her love into, and all he could see was a long, thick, hairless tail poking out. 

The critter hissed at her, and the moment was broken. Max dropped her gaze and hefted the club a little higher. 

“Max, what the f--”

She swung it down and Billy heard it smack hard against the dirt, clinking off the gravel in their side door’s path. She’d whiffed it completely. The hissing came again while Max was backing up. She hit the side of the house and was trapped. 

Billy charged forward. No thinking, no waiting. He dodged around the flower bed like it was a basketball guard and bent, grabbing the animal around the middle. It went wild, thrashing and shrieking, and Billy pivoted on one leg, dropped the little fucker, and punted. 

It cleared the eight feet of lawn to the tree line without ever touching the ground and crashed through the foliage. There was a snapping of twigs, a rustling of leaves, and then the area was pre-dawn silent again. Not even a bird singing. Billy’s panting breath sounded loud in his own ears.

“Billy, you’re bleeding,” Max said. 

Billy snapped to face her, and then looked down at himself. She was right, for once. There was a thin cut along the back of his left arm, where his jacket had gotten bunched up by his elbow. It didn’t look bad, but the blood looked almost black in the moonlight and that was unsettling. “Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he said, and pulled his jacket sleeve down to cover it. Blood slid down his fingers to spatter into the crushed gravel walkway. Now that he knew about it he could feel it; adrenaline must have blocked it out. Now it stung like a bitch and a half.

“You--” Max started, and Billy cut her off. 

“No, YOU.” He looked her up and down. “What the fuck are you doing, hunting possums in the middle of the night?” 

Max’s mouth opened and closed. For a second she seemed too shocked to speak. “Possum?” she asked. 

“Small. Hisses. Fucking claws. A long, gross tail at the end. I grew up in the city but I know my animals. So, again, what the fuck, Max? You hit animals with clubs for fun?” 

“It scared me,” Max said. “I just grabbed this because it was chasing me.” 

“You were chasing it--”

“It was chasing me!” Max hit the club against the ground, glaring up at Billy, and he felt that sudden onset nausea that made him want to get the hell away from her, from Steve on the court, from whoever lately. 

“Okay,” he said. He put his hands up in surrender, one of which was still running black-red in the fading moonline. “Okay, you little psychopath. Whatever you say.” 

“You’re not going to tell Mom or Neil!” 

Where the fuck did she get off, telling him what he was or wasn’t going to do? Billy grit his teeth so hard he got a pain in his jaw. Just a couple months ago, he would have--but he won’t. They both know that he won’t. He didn’t remember everything that happened that night, but he remembered when things changed. The exact moment he became a bitch--his little step-sister and a fucking baseball bat.

“I’d have to explain why I was out here,” he said. He turned away and started for the door. “So no. I’m not telling anyone.” 

He washed his wound out in the sink. It was shallow but long, and didn’t want to stop bleeding, so he wrapped some gauze around it and called it a night. Billy didn’t worry much about little wounds like that. He’d gotten worse on a night staying in. He went to bed just before the sunrise.


	2. Upside of the Upside Down

“You didn’t check your mail yesterday,” Neil said when Billy came out for breakfast. It was 7, which meant Billy had been sleeping for roughly three hours. 

“Did I get another credit card offer?” Billy asked. Those had been pouring in since right before he turned 18, and he didn’t know how the credit card companies knew where he lived, but the exact moment he’d been able to open up a shitty $200 limit card they’d descended like a swarm of mosquitoes. 

“No, it’s from SF State,” Neil said. There was a smile hiding behind Neil’s stiff mask. Billy was surprised he still remembered what that looked like. 

“You read it,” Billy said. He’d been digging in the fridge, scrounging for breakfast, but he put the eggs back and slammed the door shut. He rushed to the spot by the front door where Neil dropped everyone’s mail. There was one opened letter on the end, and he snatched it up. 

The envelope was a little thicker than usual, and made of nicer paper. It was addressed to William Hargrove, the corner marked with the purple and gold symbol of San Francisco State University. It was the only place Billy had applied to; cheaper and easier to get into than Berkeley or UCSF, and located in the one city in the world he desperately wanted to get to. 

“Mr. William Hargrove, 

It is my pleasure to offer you admission to San Francisco State University for--” Billy stopped reading with a whoop. 

“Susan’s sleeping, keep your voice down,” Neil said, but he was smiling too. “We did it.” 

“Sorry,” Billy said. “We?” 

\---

_He was on a set borrowed from an old sci-fi film. Something cheesy, shot in black and white, about nuclear fallout and the end of the world. He was outside in a dust storm. Everything was silent. Billy knew that if he turned around he would see something bad. If he didn’t turn around, the bad thing would still get him. He started to turn--_ he woke up. 

\---

Billy charged up the court. He’d been on fire all day; he’d slept choppily the last few nights, waking from the same dream over and over. That didn’t matter, though. He felt like he could dunk from midcourt today. He felt fantastic. 

He dodged one guard, then another, and catches the rebound from the Shirts team. The teams had been adjusted a little for practice today; for the first time he was sharing the scrimmage court with Steve Harrington as another Skin. 

Steve would never have been selected for a team in a bigger city; he was too short, too thin. Billy’s eyes snapped to him as he passed the ball that way; Steve hot it and they were down the court like a pair of wild horses. Steve, as always, just barely had control of the ball. 

“Harrington!” Billy yelled. He’d pulled ahead and now stood, jogging in place, at a great angle from the basket. The guy who’d been guarding him was still sprinting from half court; Billy was barely breaking a sweat. 

Steve did a double take, but he passed the ball forward to Billy’s waiting hands. Billy turned, jumped, shot. The buzzer sounded, and the game was over. It wasn’t even a close one; Skins won, 55 to 2. Of those 55 points, 42 belonged to Billy Hargrove. 

Coach really let the Shirts have it in his round up. He let Billy have it too, in a weird way. “Why haven’t we seen you play like that before, Hargrove? You finally decided to show up to practice today? You been playing drunk all year?” 

“Yeah, coach,” Billy said with a grin. “Guess I’d better quit it.” 

“Run some laps this weekend. Work off some energy.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You killed it today,” Steve said as they walked back towards the locker rooms. Billy raised his eyebrows at him. “What?” Steve said. “I can admit it. Let’s see you repeat it, that’s all. Maybe you got lucky today.” 

Billy watched Steve walk away. His eyes followed the lines of Steve’s back, muscled and angular, and the dimples right above the waistband of his low slung basketball shorts. Then he took a deep breath, sprayed some water from his squeeze bottle onto his face, and tried not to think about that again as he went to shower. He had to leave the ace bandage on as he did so; he’d change his scratch from saving his step-sister at home. It was a little gross for the locker room.

\---

_He was on a set borrowed from an old sci-fi film. Something cheesy, shot in black and white, about nuclear fallout and the end of the world. He was outside in a dust storm. Everything was silent. Billy knew that if he turned around he would see something bad. If he didn’t turn around, the bad thing would still get him._

_He lifted his head. He saw, for the first time, that this was Hawkins. He hadn’t recognized it before, but he was at the top of a small hill looking out over Main Street. He saw the library, the school in the distance lost in a wild growth of things, he didn’t know what. The bad thing was behind him. He started to turn--_ he woke up. 

\---

“You have any experience?” Mr. Gobson leaned over the desk. He was a big, bullish man, fat but with visible muscle on his arms. 

Billy took a breath in through his nose and smiled wide. “I do,” he said. “I was a lifeguard for the YMCA in Santa Cruz, California, last summer. I’m CPR certified for another year, too.” All of this was written on his resume, which Mr. Gobson had in front of him, but Billy didn’t let himself get frustrated. 

“You’re from California?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Why’d you move out here?” 

“My dad’s from around here,” Billy said. “Grandpa got sick, we all came back to help out.” 

Mr. Gobson looked over his resume again. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“We’re a small operation out here. Most of the time there’s just three or four people working. The lifeguards and the snackbar. In addition to making sure people don’t drown, you’ll have closing duties at the end of the day. Take out trash, scrub some toilets, restock the snack shack… You too good for that?” 

“No, sir.” Billy lifted his chin and looked Mr. Gobson directly in the eye. “I do what needs to be done. Call my references, I’m not a shirker.” 

Mr. Gobson nodded. “Any questions for me?” 

“How many hours are you looking for a week?” 

“It’s part time to start. We’re just open weekends, May 1st to June 10th. After that, you can get forty hours a week. No overtime… But you might get a little extra under the table. I don’t hire a lot of kids, so if someone calls in sick, their shift still needs to be filled. With how much the government takes from a paycheck, it’s like getting time and a half.” 

Billy nods. “You can call me. I’m going to college in the fall, so I’m always available.” 

“What are you going in for?” 

“Pre-med,” Billy said. He got the look of sudden, impressed approval that he expected to get. People were always so impressed by that idea. 

“Well, Mr. Hargrove, I think I’ve heard what I need to. I still have a couple other candidates to interview, and I’ll have to check your references, but you should hear from me either way within a few days.” 

Billy stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gobson. I really hope to hear from you soon.” He flashed the man another smile as he shook his hand. 

***

“Hello?” Billy said into the phone. He balanced it on one shoulder, head tilted almost completely horizontally so he didn’t drop it. His hands were busy.

“William,” Mr. Gobson said. “I hope this is a fine time.” 

“Yes, sir,” Billy said. He peeled back the edge of his bandage and watched more thick, dark blood oozing up from the long cut in his arm. It hadn’t healed at all over the last two weeks. If anything, it seemed totally fresh. Billy pressed the gauze to the wound and watched it soak up the red with greedy speed. “I can talk. I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon. Did your other interviews for today not show?” 

“Well, I thought to myself, it’s two hours earlier in California. Time enough to give your old boss a call at the YMCA. She gushed about you! If you want the position, it’s yours.” 

“I want the job,” Billy said instantly. The gauze was too saturated. Blood was starting to bead and slide down his arm. “Thank you. Can’t wait to work with you.” 

“It’ll be a fine summer. Glad to have you aboard, William.” 

“Please,” he said, frowning as a couple drops of blood hit the kitchen floor, “Call me Billy.” 

\---

_He was on a set borrowed from an old sci-fi film. It was also Hawkins. Billy knew that if he turned around he would see something bad. If he didn’t turn around, the bad thing would still get him. It was closer now. He could feel it, a tension in the air and a kind of buzzing in his arm._

_He looked out at the high school again. He looked up at that nuclear-winter sky, churning with turbulence even though down where he stood the air was still. He looked up because he didn’t want to look down at his arm. His arm didn’t buzz, it pulsed like a toothache in time to his heartbeat. If he looked down he’d see something he desperately didn’t want to. Behind him was a bad thing. If he didn’t look down and didn’t turn it would get him anyway. He started to turn--_ he woke up. 

\---

“And it pays more than minimum wage,” Neil said. It was the third time he’d brought it up, and finally Billy had to relent on his “less is more” policy when it came to what he told his dad.

“Yeah, a little more. Like. Thirty cents an hour?” He shrugged and poured the cereal out into his bowl. Frosted flakes were a favorite of his and he’d gotten to the box before Max, for once. “It’ll add up.” 

“It sure will.” Neil stood by the microwave, waiting for his coffee to heat up. Susan always brewed a pot before she left for work, but between travel times and her early start, that meant it had been sitting out a couple hours before anyone else in the house ever got to touch it. “You graduate on the 28th of May. Rent’s due the 7th of June.” 

Billy’s stomach dropped so fast it was like being on a rollercoaster right there in his kitchen. “What?” 

“Rent, Billy. It’s a thing adults pay each other to acknowledge that houses aren’t free.” 

“Dad, I’m saving for college.” Billy said. The sunlight slanting through the kitchen window made a line on the cabinet just to the right of his dad’s face, and that’s where Billy focused his attention. He couldn’t get upset. His palms were sweaty and his heart was beating faster, but he bit his cheek and told himself to keep his eyes up. Being an emotional little bitch wouldn’t get him anywhere with Neil. 

“If you can’t pay rent in Indiana, I don’t know how you’re going to pay it in San Francisco,” Neil said. “I guess you could hope for a really nice homo roommate to like you a lot, but that seems risky. They’re dropping like flies out there.” 

Billy stared at that spot on the wall. The microwave dinged. Neil got his coffee out, piping hot, and immediately poured cold milk into it. The steam stopped wafting in that instant. Neil was humming a little bit; he didn’t even sound mad, which made it even worse. 

“Mom left me money for college.” Billy pressed his hands flat to the tabletop. Neil stilled, but didn’t look over. Billy repeated himself, and added, “She told me she was going to. In the hospital.” 

“Your mom’s dad was wealthy,” Neil said. “But your mom wasn’t. She left some money, but it’s gone now. Been gone a while.” 

“Was it gone in California?” 

“It went to the good of the family.” Neil put his coffee mug down. He didn’t hurry the gesture, but the sharp clink in the empty kitchen made Billy flinch just the same. He dropped his gaze to his bowl. Focus on the colors. Bright yellow flakes in a white bowl. No milk yet. He didn’t dare get up and take it from the counter next to his father. Neil continued, “It went to moving us to a place where we could thrive. Do you think we’ve thrived here, son?” 

“Yes, sir.” Billy swallowed. “But. What about tuition and books. I mean, I was always going to pay my own rent but.... I thought I had tuition covered... ” 

Neil finally turned to face his son. “People won’t just hand you things in life. You’ll have to work hard.” 

“If I can’t afford the move or the rent or the tuition, how am I going to go? If I can’t pay for it they’ll give my spot away!”

“If your job isn’t good enough, you should have thought of that before you accepted it.” 

“Why didn’t YOU get a better job before you spent MY MONEY--” Billy was already on his feet and shouting, all his practice dissolving. What was he doing? This was a terrible idea, it wasn’t like him at all. He just felt the rage so close under the surface. 

“That’s enough.” Neil stepped away from the counter and closed the distance between them down to a foot. “Try that again.” 

Billy clenched his jaw. The silence dragged on between them until Neil started to raise his right hand. Then Billy spat words out through his teeth, fast and sneering, eyes locked on his father’s fist. “I said I’ll figure something out.” 

“And?” 

“And?” Billy could suddenly see himself pushing back. His new energy crackled under the surface of his skin. Billy could picture just how it would feel to shove Neil against the counter and punch him until teeth clattered to the floor, just beat the shit out of him. He could smell blood and feel phantom pain in his knuckles. It turned his guts to water with fear. He didn’t want to do that. He was almost begging in his own head: don’t let him want that. “And I’m sorry, sir.” Billy held his breath, waiting to see if that was going to be good enough. 

Neil settled back on his heels, and slowly nods. “Okay,” he said. “Go get ready. You’ll be late for school.” 

Billy left his untouched bowl of cereal behind him when he retreated to his room. Behind him, he heard the door to Max’s room open. She always knew how to wait out the fights.  
\---

_He was in destroyed Hawkins. Billy knew that if he turned around he would see something bad. If he didn’t turn around, the bad thing would still get him. It was closer now. He could feel it in the bones of his arm, all the way up to his shoulder._

_If he looked down he’d see something he desperately didn’t want to. Billy stepped forward, trying to leave the bad thing behind him in the dust. He made it down the hill in slow motion. His steps were big and clumsy, like walking on the moon. At the bottom of the hill he felt it right behind him. He started to look back to see and--_ he woke up. 

\---

Billy knew where the Hawkins Public Library was. It was just a block off Main Street, and Billy actually retraced his nightmare footsteps on the way there. In the bright daylight of an early May afternoon it looked nothing like the dusty wasteland he saw every night in his dreams. He’d been putting off going to the library because he was afraid of confronting his dream in the waking world, but now that he was there, Billy felt like an idiot. It was just a dream.

He parked the Camaro in the last spot in the lot and got out. It was a warm day, almost unseasonably so, with the temperature climbing into the high seventies. He left his denim jacket on despite the spring heatwave. Underneath it, his whole left forearm was now wrapped in gauze. 

The Hawkins Library interior was small and plain, with small windows that made Billy think about Little House on the Prairie, for some reason. “Hey,” he said, at the reference desk. “I’m just looking for some information?” 

The librarian looked up at him. She was young-ish, under 30, with big black frame glasses and an absolutely wild perm. She looked like the girl at the start of a movie theater makeover montage, but Billy thought that after some hair and makeup and a low-cut top, she would still be a below average nerd. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

“You’ve come to the right place! Any information in particular?” 

“Rabies,” Billy said. He looked around, but the library is all but deserted. No one else in Hawkins wanted to be inside on a day like today. “The symptoms of rabies, and causes. It’s for a school project.” 

“Let me guess: analyzing _Old Yeller_?” The librarian gave him a knowing look. 

“You got it,” Billy said. “Maybe I could just copy your paper from when you did this report… last year?” 

The librarian laughed again, and got to her feet. “Come with me, I’ll show you the best sources in here.” 

Billy got what he needed and settled down at a long table to deal with a stack of books. She’d gone all over the library for him, and she’d brought a biography of Fred Gipson and a book on thematic analysis as well as the more medical texts. She’d also brought the library’s copy of _Cujo_ by Stephen King, in case he wanted a modern, comparative text. He set all of those aside and started with the most basic: a short book on the history of the rabies vaccine that started with a handy summary of the horrors of rabies. 

Billy wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. It was hot in here, the air very still; a couple fans whirred high up in the rafters, but air conditioning had yet to invade this building. His arm twinged under his jacket. Unexpected movement was causing that more and more. 

“Irritability or aggressiveness,” he read. Was he aggressive? Sure. Was he irritable? Absolutely. On the other hand, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt calm and generous and at peace, so that wasn’t the most helpful metric. 

Next was “excessive movements or agitation.” Again, measured against what? He was more energetic lately… But before that, he’d been lethargic. Maybe this was what normal felt like. He didn’t feel sick. He felt like he was going to drag this no-account, small town team of basketball dipshits to the state championships kicking and screaming.

Billy realized that he was bouncing his knee up and down and forced himself to stop. He was fine. 

“Confusion, bizarre or strange thoughts, or hallucinations” was next, and he definitely didn’t have that. Except, of course, for the endlessly repeating nightmare of walking through destroyed Hawkins, and the way his eyes always seemed to find the back of Steve Harrington’s neck in Social Studies class. Steve sat right in front of the teacher so he’d have to pay attention, and lately Billy hadn’t heard a word that Miss Arnold said. Steve needed a haircut. His nape all fuzzy and soft--Billy forced himself back to the present. 

He licked his finger, turned the page, and saw “excessive salivation” as the next symptom. Billy shut that book. That was enough of that. He’d just look up possums and see if they were known for being rabid. 

Billy reaches for the encyclopedia to get a general overview and then checked the time. It was almost four; he had to pick up Max from the arcade at 4:15, and if they were late getting home Neil was going to be pissed. He’d have to look up possums some other time.

\---

_He was in destroyed Hawkins. Billy knew that if he turned around he would see something bad. Billy stepped forward, trying to leave the bad thing behind him in the dust. His steps were big and clumsy, like walking on the moon. At the bottom of the hill he pressed on, heading down Main Street. The details were clear despite the fuzzy dust; he studied the sign over Johnson’s Store, and it looked very real. He kept walking, but now he thought there was something in front of him as well, waiting at the end of Main Street. He could face the thing in front of him or the thing behind him. He started to turn--_ he woke up. 

\---

The music was turned up so loud inside that Billy could still hear it at the edge of the lawn. Behind him, a rickety farmhouse pulsed with light and hormones as half the cool kids in Hawkins met to drink until they were brave enough to make bad decisions. Billy wasn’t drunk yet, because he didn’t need the help. 

He just needed a minute or two alone. He’d been getting riled up inside. All the noise, all the heat from bodies crushing in around him. He’d slammed his fist through the drywall for no reason and now he was trying to calm the hell down before he went back in there. Hopefully, no one had seen him. 

He took a breath of clean night air, listened to the chirping of newly awakened frogs in the late spring night. Then he took a breath of very unclean air, lighting up his cigarette and letting himself sink into it. 

The corn wasn’t very tall yet. He didn’t know when it had been planted, but it was already poking up in spikes maybe a foot tall. Last fall, he’d been to a corn maze, possibly at this same farm. Come October, the field would make more money as an attraction as it ever did as a food source. It had been a rare good day; the sun was still hot but the wind was cool, and down in the shade of the stalks he’d marched, Max trailing behind him. 

She wasn’t the type for corn mazes; she’d gotten frustrated almost at once. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be blowing up aliens with her friends at the arcade. That had made it more fun, honestly. Seeing her pace and yell, telling her, “We paid two bucks each to get in, we’re staying.” She’d said he didn’t know how to get out either, and he’d said he had. And when he finally felt like it, he put out his right hand and followed that side of the maze all the way out, in a roundabout way, passing confused children and fake-confused parents indulgently running to and fro in the corn. She’d been so pissed that he was right that he didn’t even mind taking her to the arcade and giving her two bucks for quarters. 

“What’s this for?” she’d asked, eyes full of suspicion. 

“I told Neil it was three bucks each to get in,” he said. “And you’re gonna tell him we spent the whole day there.” 

“Deal,” she said, and kicked his door open. She ignored his shouts to not treat his baby like that as she marched away. 

There was someone else out here with him. His first, utterly irrational thought was _Children of the Corn_ , the only horror movie to ever give him an actual nightmare when he’d seen it in theaters last fall. Probably because it was just a couple days after the corn maze. 

“Hey, do you--Oh.” 

Billy turned. It was Steve Harrington, because of course it was Steve Harrington. “Do I what?” 

“Nevermind,” Steve said. “I’ll ask someone else.” 

“Jesus, just ask me. What’s the worst I could do?” 

“Smash a plate over my head.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. 

Billy looked at his feet. “We’re outside, so.” 

“Smash a… stalk of corn over my head.” 

“But did you die?” Billy asked. 

“No, I obviously didn’t die.” 

“So get over it.” Billy shrugged. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. That’s all.” 

“So if you got the shit kicked out of you, you’d just move on? Let it fucking go?” 

“Yeah,” Billy said. “I always have.” 

“You don’t lose fights.”

“I do.” 

“You--”

“I do!” 

Steve looks out over the field. “Fine. Whatever. Give me a cigarette.” 

Billy pulled out his pack and handed it over. He had to reach with his right hand across his body, because his left arm was still sensitive from the punch. He wasn’t even left handed, but that’s the fist he’d put through the wall. Steve took one and handed it back. Billy put it back in his pockets. “There. Was that so hard?” No answer, and he ashes into the dirt. “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

“I don’t. It’s for Lindsey.” 

“Who?” 

“My girl,” Steve said. “She wanted a smoke and I said I just had to run back to my car for a second. She’ll be wondering where I am, so--” 

“Good for you for getting back on the horse,” Billy said, “After Nancy, I mean. But she’s never going to believe you’re a smoker. You won’t smell like it.” 

“I’ll tell her this was my last one.” 

“Then she won’t believe that you gave it away. A real smoker would sit in his car, smoke his last one, and then tell her he didn’t have any. Trust me.” 

“So, what do I do?” 

“Hold still.” Billy took a deep, deep drag and stepped forward. He bent forward and blew smoke into the other boy’s clothes. Steve wrinkled his nose, but let him do it. “There. That’s better. And here, take this.” 

Billy held out his cigarette butt. Steve took it, and their fingers brushed over each other. Billy wanted to close that distance again and show Steve what kissing a smoker really felt like. He could see this, too, in his imagination, with that new clarity he had now--every detail of Steve’s shock, tension, and release. How he’d sag forward. How he’d let Billy touch him and ask no questions. Because in a fantasy you never have to explain yourself. 

“Thanks,” Steve said. The image faded; the moment was over.

“You owe me one,” Billy said. He dragged his eyes away and looked back out over the corn field. “Try not to think of that while you’re scoring later.” 

“Damn. Here I was going to picture you when I got tired of baseball and doing multiplication tables to last longer.” Steve laughed, and Billy laughed because it was a real good joke, and as soon as Steve was gone he crushed out his cigarette and went home. He wasn’t having fun out here, and he needed to change his bandage.

\---

_He walked down the hill and didn’t stop. He studied the sign over Johnson’s Store, and it was real. There was something in front of him as well, waiting at the end of Main Street. He could face the thing in front of him or the thing behind him. He looked down the empty streets at every corner, but he didn’t turn off the main path. There was only a straight line. His arm hurt so much now, like nothing ever hurt before. Halfway down Main Street, he couldn’t take it anymore. Billy stopped by the mailbox on 4th and Main--somehow here, at the end of the world, still standing--and gathered himself. He started to turn--_ he woke up. 

\---

“Hey, Lisa,” Billy said. “What did they study at that Hawkins Lab that closed down late last year?” 

“Uh… Energy, wasn’t it?” Lisa asked. Billy had met her the previous weekend on his first day of work. He’d worked two of four shifts with her so far, and had come to the conclusion that it was extremely lucky for her that she had the body of a goddess. Not that he particularly cared about it, not the way she seemed to hope with how she leaned over the counter top every time he looked over, but he wasn’t blind. 

“Like, nuclear energy?” he was trying very hard to keep his voice steady. 

“Why?” She blinked her big, blue eyes at him. He had just discovered a monster and she was, at best, mildly curious. She was just too stupid get worked up about it. 

“Because, I just saw this… this big, mutant, radioactive rat outside by the dumpster.” Billy swallowed hard. “We should. God, we have to call someone!” 

Lisa looked from Billy to the bag of garbage he still had in his hand. They were trying to close down the pool after the second weekend it had been open, and she’d washed all the counters and he’d put away all the pool toys, and he’d been walking out the trash and then he’d seen the crazy bastard. It was probably in pain, the poor little fucker. It would be kinder to kill it. 

“I want to see it,” she said, finally. “And throw the garbage out.” 

“Lisa, we really shouldn’t go near it, what if it attacks us?” 

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?” Lisa asked, and maybe she wasn’t so stupid after all. Billy couldn’t back down now that she’d said that. 

“Of course,” he said, “But…” 

She took the trash out of his hand and started for the dumpster. She flicked on the outside light as she went; dusk was dying now. They closed the pool at sundown, and it took two workers an hour to finish closing everything up. The floodlights lit up the side of the building and the single dumpster at the back. 

“There!” Billy said. It was cowering in the light, snout pointed towards them. Its eyes were pitch black, and its grey and white fur stuck up in thick patches along its body. Its mouth opened and fangs gleamed in the light. 

Lisa started to laugh. “Oh, Billy! You got me, that’s so funny! A big, nuclear, mutant rat. You really creeped me out! And it’s just a possum!” She hefts the bag and throws it into the open dumpster; it clangs and the creature finally unfreezes and runs out of sight behind the heavy dumpster. Lisa starts back to the pool, still giggling. “Mutant rat…” 

Billy stared after the creature that scampered away, gears turning frantically in his head as he compared the size, fur vs smooth skin, grey vs the dark, grubby brown-green. His heart was pounding as he came to a realization. 

“ ** _That’s_** a possum?” 

\---

_He walked. He didn’t turn off the main road. There was only a straight line. It was faster now; he didn’t linger. The almost-empty world around him no longer held much interest for him. The overwhelming focus was on the thing behind him and the thing in front of him. His arm hurt, but that didn’t seem important anymore. He started to run, and though he moved his feet faster and faster the landscape scrolled by at the same sluggish pace. He was outrunning the thing behind, closing in on the thing in front, and he wanted to see it. He didn’t turn, he pressed on, and he felt the thing behind him hot and close. At the end of main street he looked up at a dark outline and knew he’d made it. The thing turned and--_ he woke up. 

\---

Billy knocked on Max’s door. She opened it a fraction of an inch, just enough for him to see a sliver of one eye. He hadn’t seen inside her bedroom since the day they moved in; she kept it closed, and for some reason Neil let her. Billy had to consent to room inspections, but not Maxine. She could be growing pot in there and they’d never know it. 

“We have to talk,” Billy said. Max shut the door. 

“Max!” he knocked again. “Maxine, open up. This is serious.” 

“Quiet,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you. Whatever it is, just go away.” 

“It’s about that thing you were trying to kill with a golf club,” Billy said. 

The door opened again. “What?” she whispered, fierce and angry. 

Billy put his hand on the door and locked eyes with her. If he kicked that door in right now it would bounce off her face and probably give her a black eye. If he just put his shoulder to it and shoved he’d be able to knock her on her ass. There was a brief standoff in the quiet house as she weighed whether or not he’d actually do it. Just a couple weeks ago he might have dropped his eyes, but his new confidence didn’t let him back down. He felt a ripple of anger instead--she was defying him. 

“This is happening,” he said. “It’s up to you how.” 

“I’ll come to your room,” she said, at last. 

Billy backed away, hands help up front of him in a gesture of peace, and lead the way back to his room. 

Max chose to sit at his desk, her back to the door. She looked ready to bolt at any second. Billy took a seat on his bed. Silence reigned until he finally said, “Let’s cut to the chase. I know that thing wasn’t a possum. I know you were hunting it.” 

“It’s been almost a month,” Max said. “Why does it matter now?” 

“I ask the questions,” Billy said. “What was it?” 

Max sat in silence for so long that Billy thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I don’t know what it’s called, really.” Her fingers rose to pull at the the ends of her hair. “We call them demo-dogs.” 

“It didn’t look like a dog.” 

“It will.” Max’s voice was so flatly confident that Billy shut up. “It’s gonna grow. Probably has grown already. We haven’t been able to find it, but it’s out there. Probably with more like it. When you helped it escape, I was getting ready to trap it.” 

“Why? Who’s we?” 

“Do you know Hawkins Lab?” Max asked. 

“Yeah. They studied energy there.” 

“No, they didn’t. Not really. Well, kind of. I don’t know about that part? But they mostly did experiments. Really shitty experiments. They took things and messed them up, and then a bunch of them escaped. And the government doesn’t want anyone to know, so we--my friends and I, and a couple others--catch and get rid of them when they turn up. This way no one gets hurt and the government doesn’t look into Hawkins.” 

“That’s crazy,” Billy said. His heart was beating hard, and he could feel the ache of it in his arm. The pain was crawling up his shoulder into his neck now, and for the first time he wondered what was going to happen when that strange pain reached his head. 

“Yeah, don’t believe it,” Max said. “You’ll be safer if you don’t.” 

“Who else knows about this?” 

“My friends and some others. Will Byers and his brother and mom. Mike, Lucas,” she paused, staring Billy down, and only kept speaking when he didn’t object. “And Dustin and Mike’s sister Nancy. And Steve Harrington.” 

“Wait, so--The night that Steve and I fought--” 

“We were on our way to fight demo-dogs and save Hawkins,” Max said. “You almost ended the world.” 

Billy stared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped!” 

“You hate us. Why would you do” 

“I obviously don’t want the world to end! I knocked Steve on his ass, I definitely could have been more help than him! Max, what if you’d gotten hurt?” 

“I didn’t want you there! And I’m not the bad guy!” Max bursts out. She got to her feet in a hurry, face flushed. “You almost killed us all but that’s every damn day for you, isn’t it? Why the hell would I think you’d help?” 

“So if you’re backed into a corner and it’s between me and some monsters, you’d take the fucking monsters?” 

“You are a monster!” 

Max turned on her heel and slammed Billy’s bedroom door behind her. 

\---

At the end of Main Street, he looked up at a dark outline and knew he’d made it. The thing turned, opened its eyes, and faced him across the distance. 

Billy was in ruined Hawkins. The creature in front of him was vaguely dog-like, but only just. Like if a dog and a person could breed, one of those horrific children might look like this. Dust motes clogged the air between them. He couldn’t see any eyes on this thing, but he knew that it was focusing on him with whatever senses it possessed; he could feel its regard on his skin. 

“You’re the experiment,” he said. He walked around it, observing it from multiple angles, and it turned to keep focus on him every time. At the sound of his voice it takes a step forward on its horrible, hand-like paws. 

“Max said you’re a monster,” Billy told it. “But that’s not fair, is it? You didn’t ask to be. Someone ripped you to shreds and put you back together all wrong.” 

He stretched his hands out to the sides. His palms were empty, and he showed them to the creature like you would a dog. It backed away, hackles raised, and Billy took another step forward anyway. The distance between them shrunk with every sentence. “And of course you’re not nice. A nice thing wouldn’t survive that, would it? No one cares about what you went through, just what you’ve done. Fuck them. They don’t have to understand you. We’re both going to be just fine; trust me.”

He was just a few inches away from it now. Its strange, featureless head lifted towards his hand. He was so focused on the thing in front that he’d forgotten the thing behind. There was a sudden pressure in his head like someone clamped a vice down onto it. He staggered and the creature’s head split apart like a blooming flower. It engulfed his left arm, teeth sinking into his pre-existing wound, and things happened too fast for him to follow after that. 

He just knew he wasn’t alone anymore.


End file.
